


Bone Buddy

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, I honestly don't know where this is going, Other, Public Sex, Reader Is Not Frisk, Skeleton Puns, future skeleton sex, tags will be added as this work is added to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You decide to try out Grillby's with your friends one night. It turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write sin. Friends on tumblr told me to write skeleton sex. What was supposed to be a one-shot turned into this and I have no idea where it's going anymore.
> 
> Don't send help.

The night started out fairly normal considering where you ended up. Rarely did you go bar hopping, or out drinking in general, but when you did, you made sure to enjoy yourself. Some of you would meet for dinner first and then join up with the others elsewhere. And the typical plan varied between going downtown and going to the strip of bars by the local college.

Tonight however, one of your friends suggested a fairly new bar. This place called Grillby’s on the edge of Ebott, near the mountain, supposedly run by a monster itself. One or two people admitted they weren’t too excited, citing reasons of it being quite a drive, or being uncomfortable around beings who might not know how to handle drunk humans. Another was quick to remind that there was such a thing as a designated driver, and that if the group stuck to one bar, people were far less likely to get overly drunk, or get lost.

One of your friends was quick to cite the time the designated driver somehow managed to get lost in the bathroom downtown and ended up crying in a corner for about an hour while the rest of the group were either kicked out of the bar or stood there and applauded the sober friend’s “performance”.

The silence in the Google Hangout was deafening.

You ended up mustering some form of encouragement and pointed out that it wouldn’t hurt to try the bar at least once, and if the group didn’t care for it, you could try a different one the next time you all went out. And that was that.

Outside of having monsters lurking in almost every booth and throughout the bar, Grillby’s was not really anything special. There were maybe two televisions, silly faux-wood walls, the tables looked piecemealed together, and honestly, the drinks were not any different than what was offered elsewhere. (You did have to explain to the bartender, a man of flame, how to make The Bone cocktail but he was quick to catch on, and didn’t need to look at your phone after the third one.)

Your group commandeered a section of the bar, some sitting on stools, other’s either leaning against the bar itself or one another. You figured out a system where you could rotate seats so everyone could sit now and then, especially for those who weren’t comfortable sitting in anyone’s lap. Numerous orders of fries were brought over, and despite the somewhat loud noise the group was making, not once had anyone asked you to quiet down. In fact, you were certain some monsters were snickering at the conversations, at the badmouthing of some employers, or exes, or classes, or whatever the topic was at that period of time.

At the moment, you were practically perched on the bar itself, clutching your drink in one hand and gesticulating with the other in regards to how paronomasia is not the lowest form of humor, and anyone who thinks otherwise doesn’t understand the beauty and thought behind such a simple appearing joke. You ended your statement with, “anyone who disagrees can fight me.”

“(Y/N), you cried over a video of a puppy barking at it’s own hiccups. I don’t think you’re in the position to fight anyone.”

“Don’t care, fight me.”

There was a snort to the right, barely audible over the clambering sound of the small bar. Your eyes searched for the source, and you found yourself meeting the gaze(?) of a skeleton in an oversized hoodie sitting at the other end. His perpetual grin seemed genuinely amused, and he raised a bottle of ketchup towards you. Part of you liked to think it was comradery, another part thinking he was agreeing with you. You continued to stare. His smile appeared to widen, and your felt your heart beat increase. Were you embarrassed for some reason?

He somehow winked, an action that upon thought later would make your head hurt and you scour through medical texts trying to figure out _how_ , when you realized you were blushing. You weren't just flushed from alcohol, but you were legitimately blushing. How intriguing! You wanted to explore this emotion further. You drank more of your cocktail and kept glancing up at him, blushing as you kept getting caught. You were not very good at this being sly thing, unless it was just because you had too much to drink already.

Eventually, after attempting to distract yourself with your friends conversations, you waved at him. He gave a small wave of his own.

 _Fuck it,_ you thought, _I'm going to talk to him_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Frottage occurring in this chapter. Frottage, public sex, I am not sure if this chapter needs any more warnings. Please let me know.
> 
> Note: I changed/updated the ending of the previous chapter. Please go back and read that before continuing onwards. Thank you.

Somehow, you ended up outside with him; outside in the alleyway beside Grillby’s. Somehow, playful touches and flirting became hands scrambling against his blue jacket, pants and moans escaping bite-swollen lips. A leg hiked up around his waist, his frame pressed tight against yours, his hips between yours, pinning you against the brick wall.

His face rested between your neck and shoulder, teeth pressing hard against the skin but not biting. One of his hands was tracing the skin around your waist, right where your shirt rode up, and the other held your leg wrapped around his thigh. He rocked against you, pressing you intermittently against the wall, rubbing against you.

You bit at your lips again, hands digging into his jacket, trying to pull him closer, hips rocking against his. You threw your head back, he moved his hand to your hip and gripped it tight. Vaguely, you registered that you were going to have a variety of marks on your body when you woke in the morning.

At a particular movement, you whimpered, trembling beneath him. He chuckled, “You like that?” and then repeated the action. With a couple of repeats, you broke apart: you couldn’t breathe, your heart was pounding in your ears, you felt heated all over, and pleasure emitted from your core. You slumped against the wall, arms curling around the skeleton as he rubbed a few more times and leaned against you.

Eventually your heart slowed, and you regained control of your limbs. You still felt flushed, but for an entirely different reason than before. He pulled away from you, adjusted his shorts and jacket, and seemed to grin. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Hell yes,” you said, pushing yourself away from the wall. You began the task of adjusting your shirt and your pants, shifting in the fabric. It was an odd sensation, and you knew that if you didn’t get out of your clothes soon, everything would be sticky. “Never come from frottage with clothes on before.” Close, but not quite.

“First time for everything.” He shrugged. The two of you stood in the alleyway awkwardly, meeting each other’s gaze now and then, not quite ready to leave, but not quite sure what to say.

Once again, you found yourself thinking _fuck it_ , and you said, “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing this again.” He stared at you blankly. “Assuming you would be interested, I mean.” You clarified.

He chuckled, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets. “You want to take another trip to the bone zone?”

“Is that what you call it?”

He grinned. “You don’t even know my name.”

You paused briefly, “I don’t need to know your name to figure out you’d be a good lay, if that last bit was any hint of your skill.”

The two of you continued to stare, and you briefly wondered if you were coming across too strong. You were told before that you were aggressive when drunk, and that tended to turn people off.

“I’m Sans.”

You smiled brightly and gave him your name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have requests for reader/sans bonebuddy interactions, please let me know, and I'll try to incorporate them in future chapters. I hope to update this fic at least once a week, and your ideas would be helpful.


End file.
